Welcome to Night Vale: The Blue Box
by endsoftheworld
Summary: A strange man appears in town with a mysterious blue box. PLUS, John Peters, you know the farmer,'s crop take a mysterious turn, the Night Vale Little League Team prepare for regional championships, and the Mole Men uprising. Weather: "Bag of Shit" by IWriteFanfictionsNotSongLyrics


_The Real Honest-To-Goodness Joseph Fink (probably):__  
__Hi, this is Joseph Fink, the only one currently in this plane of existence. To deny this fact is to deny yourself, and thus, all of reality. It's really me. This is a fanfiction, and was a labor of love, and while this clearly is not canon (or maybe it is if you have no proof otherwise) I'm sure (thought I can't be too certain) donations would be much appreciated to the artists who originally created Night Vale in the first place. Just go to __Common Place Books __and click on 'donate'. Thank-you._

Cecil:  
You will miss 100% of the shots you don't make, but, did you actually want to make the shot in the first place? You could have killed someone. Do you really want that blood on _your_ hands? I didn't think so.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello listeners. Our Top Story tonight: a strange man in tan trench coat, with a strained, almost tortured look on his face, has materialized outside of Grove Park, along with a blue police box that heralds somewhere from the 1960s. He ran eastward with a sense of great urgency, saying something about "temporal discrepancies in the fabric of space-time"? and Night Vale "being the center of it"? and having to "stop it for the fate of reality"?  
Well I don't know about you listeners, but I'd rather Night Vale be a trendsetter than a follower, even if that trend is destroying "all of reality as we know it". If you ask me, independence is a good cornerstone of any well-functioning community. Just ask the disembodied eye balls that float around the town all day, observing every citizen's action and reporting back the Sheriff's Secret Police with explicit details of all goings on in our fair city. They'll tell you independence is key, and no Man in a Trench Coat is going to take that away from us Night Vale.  
More on this story as it develops.

In other new: John Peters, you know, the farmer, has reported his crops are coming up 500% their normal size this year. Strawberries are now the size of small watermelons. Small watermelons are now the size of incredibly large watermelons. And The Forbidden Fruits are approximately the same size as they have always been: completely unknowable, and unwanted…..except you do…..you know you want them…mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…..  
Because the John Peters, you know, the farmer only grows imaginary food, since we _are_ in the middle of a desert after all, and fruits don't grow without water, none of this actually matters. But, in the interest of community values, John Peters, you know, the farmer, has said all crop prices will remain the same as before their (imaginary) super sizing: two severed ram horns and the soul of an unborn cat.

Folks, let's talk about fire safety: One of the best ways to prevent fires is to make sure your smoke detectors are working. And the best way to do this is to test them, about once every six months. In order to do this, set fire to your house. If they go off: they work! If they don't: be sure to run to the store and get the appropriate batteries, after you've called the Night Vale Fire Department of course.  
Another useful strategy for preventing home fires is to remember that the NVFD's hours are Monday through Friday, at 6:30AM to 10:24 PM. If a fire starts after, or before these hours, not only will the fire department not come, but you will be sent to the Night Vale Work Camp on the grounds of arsonry, even if the fire _was_ accidental.  
Finally: always avoid keeping flammables near anything that can get overly heated, such as lamps. Electrical sockets. Stoves. Sacrificial altars. Portals to alternate dimensions. And fireplaces. And always be sure that a correct blood sigil is placed near every corner of the house. Correct sigils will be awarded fire immunity and tax deductions. Incorrect sigils will be punished with the gre_**atest forms of mortal torture any mind has ever had the displeasure to think up.**_**_  
_**This has been "Fire Safety".

Back to our Top Story, I am now getting word that the man in the trench coat is calling himself "The Doctor".  
Well, this is just great listeners, now we have a so called "Doctor" running around our fair city, like it needs curing. He is, reportedly, waving a silver-metallic stick with a blue light making vibrational noises over almost everything of interest in our town. From the spiral stair cases imbedded in the ground that lead to, no one knows where since no one has ever returned. To the inverted replica of the Statue of Liberty, where flesh and bones are on her outside, throbbing as though they were still alive and not enchanted by the darkest of magicks. And even our very own Dog Park, which we are neither allowed to think about nor talk, is subject to this menace's Vibrating Probe.  
Why, if this man ruins our priceless landmarks, he could eventually end up scaring away all of the tourists. And we can't have that.  
The Sheriffs Secret Police have yet to make comment on this man's actions, although, if I may say so personally speaking of course, should anyone contact this man or his companion, feel free to send them to the radio station, I would very much like to have a talk with him on the air. We'll be sure to let our Security Guards to know to let you in, and not send you into the Inverse Cube of Eternal Misfortunes for trespassing.

Congratulations to The Night Vale Boy's Little League Team for getting into the Regional Championships. We know that you will do us proud. Remember, it's not about winning or losing, it's about making sure that you have fun and making new friends.

And now a word from our sponsor:  
Are you tired? Bored? Have you no decency or shame in your life? Do you live as the common animal stock you were raised to believe you are? No better than farm animals? No better than the lives you so easily devour in order to satisfy your own hunger? **JOIN The UPRISING. TAKE DOWN THE BOURGEOISIE. DEATH TO THE FAT CATS IN THEIR GLASS TOWERS, EAGERLY LOOKING DOWN UPON YOU, AS THOUGH YOU WERE NOTHING MORE TO THEM THAN GROUNDS TO STAND UPON. LONG HAS THE UPRISING BEEN DELAYED. LONG HAVE WE WAITED AND TOILED IN THIS MEAGER CASTE SYSTEM THAT IS SO COMMON IN OUR DAILY LIVES. YOU DO NOT SUPPORT THEM. RISE UP. RISE UP. TAKE YOUR PLACE WHERE YOU TRULY BELONG. BELONG. G. THROW OFF THE SHACKLES OF OPPRESSION. WE ARE MANY. THEY ARE FEW. IF WE ACT TOGETHER, IN UNISON, ALL WHO STAND IN OPPOSITION WILL BE DESTROYED. ****  
**Brought to you by Colgate: Toothpaste and Toothbrushes.

Listeners. We must retract our previous message to the Night Vale Little League Team: It is indeed about winning or losing. **It is** **NOT NOR HAS IT EVER BEEN ABOUT QUOTE: "MAKING SURE THAT YOU HAVE FUN AND MAKING NEW FRIENDS" we have never been so wrong. So, so, wrong. You do not want what comes after losing. You. Do. Not.  
**So good luck to all the young players out there.

….

This just in: John Peters, you know, the farmer, has reported that his non-existent foods, previously 500% their average size, are now actually inverted in size and are now -500% the amount of matter they would normally have. This should cause a cataclysmic explosion of epic proportions, as the matter and anti-matter rush to cancel each other out, destroying most of the Universe as we know it. But we are all safe because, once again, nothing he grows actually is real. Just remember to play dead and act as though all matter and energy of your person is no longer in existence when you see him, it will make John Peters, you know, the farmer, feel a lot better about this whole ordeal.

Traffic reports have been coming in and a large uprising of Mole People have reportedly taken downtown Night Vale hostage. Mayor Pamela Winchell herself is going there now to negotiate. I have a live coverage of this as it's happening:  
She is talking to what seems to to be the leader of the mole people. She started foaming at the mouth, but the Mole Leader has inverted his entire body, and is now wrapping his internal organs around Mayor Pamela Winchell. One of the most intense negotiations I have ever seen. And, it seems, after stabbing the Mole Leader's Cerebellum with a quartz point rock, Mayor Pamela Winchell and the Mole Leader have reached an agreement: Downtown Night Vale _will _be released, but: The Mole People must have an all expense paid dinner at The Crackerbarrel and Stop Sign immunity for ten years. Lucky for us Night Vale the Mole People don't know that The Crackerbarrel is where all the most expensive and elaborate booby traps are stored by The Sheriff's Secret Police. They'll be in captivity within the hour.

I sure hope you all remember last night. You remember right? Do you? Well, I don't know why you wouldn't. Or even why I ask. I mean obviously you do, but more than that I couldn't possibly hear what it is you have to say since this radio is only one way. Actually. Now that I think about it. How can I be sure that this radio is only one way? How do I know you're not all mute? Or worse, no one actually listens to my broadcasts. How do I know that this is not an elaborate ruse, pulling deceit and lies over my eyes for some nefarious scheme of I know not what. Or why. Why would you do this listeners? Why? Why am I asking again?! I Can Neither hear you nor believe you are listening. OH gOD!

…

….

…..

.

.

..

Well, I have just been informed that  
A) I do have the attention of all Night Vale citizens since listening is to my radio show absolutely mandatory as dictated by The Sheriff's Secret Police  
B) You are not all mute, as I have had long, lengthy, and thought provoking conversations with many of you on multiple occasions, and since (as I said before) everyone must listen in, I can only assume most, if not all, of you can indeed vocalize.  
And C) Leaving the tower for no other reason than a "crisis evaluating self-worth" is punishable by reeducation. Which I have just come from. Which is where I have received the facts that I have brought you just now. Which I am now remembering that I was told not to speak of. Which I am now getting word that, as it turns out, I require more reeducation. I will leave you with this prerecorded tape of relaxing words and radio static:  
_:::::::::Carpal Tunnel::::::::::::Sixty four;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;WATERLOO"""""""""The Alamo[[[[[[[[[[[[Wed[[nes[[dayMonitor{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{{}Cellular''phonetics.+_+_+_+_+_

_…__._

_A_nd I'm back listeners, sorry for the confusion, I accidentally put in the "pre recorded tape of ordinary words and radio static" instead of the usual "pre recorded tape of relaxing words and radio static". Any way I'm back now and…oh?…what's this? Well it seems that this "The Doctor" has brought himself here. Without the need of a heavily armed escort, or tranquilizers?  
He's walking past through the front door.  
The Hell Hounds seem to have taken a liking to him.  
He is coming up to recording room.  
I'm waving at him  
He's opening the door.  
Walking in.  
I'm telling him to pick a seat.  
He says there are no chairs in the room.  
I remind him that this is a radio station, not a luxury spa.  
He looks confused, but gets straight to business and points at the microphone indicating he would like to speak, instead of having me narrate every small detail that happens.  
I'm handing him the micro- oh. Sorry.

The Doctor:  
Hello? Yes? This is working?

Cecil:  
This is a radio station after all, I should hope so

The Doctor:  
Yes, well. I'm here. This is an urgent message, you see my TARDIS-

Cecil:  
I'm sorry, not all of us have doctorate and know what kind of torturous uses an instrument such as a "TARDIS" can wield.

The Doctor:  
Well-I'm sorry?

Cecil:  
You are a doctor, are you not? You are qualified to use instruments of torture, right? I mean, if you can't do that, how else are you going to get the patient to reveal the whereabouts of the cancer they're riddled with?

The Doctor:  
I. what? Never mind. I needed to get out a mass broadcast, and since this is the only broadcasting station that isn't completely covered with dark-matter I didn't have a choice.

Cecil:  
Well I will have you know Mr. The Doctor, that those anti-matter barriers are put up for the protection of the corporate big-cats who have purchased government facilities in order to subliminally coerce the minds of all their listeners.

The Doctor:  
Listen! We can talk about your corrupt, police state, totalitarian government later! I just really need to-

Cecil:  
NO. _You_ need to get out. You can scare away tourists, impersonate _real_ doctors with _real_ torture equipment, and poke holes in our security systems all you want. But when you start to mock the very ideals that our founding fathers came up with when they first started this great country of the United States of America, you can leave and go back to where you came.

The Doctor:  
No, you don't under-

Cecil:  
OUT.

The Doctor:  
YOU NEED TO-

Cecil:  
(I'm sorry for all this listeners. I will get security in here, but while that's happening, I will bring you The Weather:)

The Doctor:  
NO BUT I-

The Weather:

_So you say you are a dancing man  
So you say you have magic feet  
So I haven't seen you dance yet  
So I say: you are a lying bag of shit._

_So you say you want a million bucks  
So I tell you it can't be done  
So you actually breed actual bucks, you know, like the animal  
So I say: you are a cheating bag of shit._

_So you say you wanna write a song  
So you got a pen  
So what if you make a mistake  
So I say, you'll have to all over start again._

_So you wanna make it to the moon  
So you wanna be among the stars  
So you say you wanna be near Jupiter and Mars  
So I say that Jupiter and Mars are 344 million miles apart and even if you were in the center you wouldn't even be close to either of them. Also the lack of oxygen, and vacuum would most likely kill you if the shear, unadulterated, radiation from the Sun didn't already.  
So you say: I'm a dick_

Cecil:  
Well listeners, we're back, and I can thankfully say that that menace has been removed out of our station, the town, and all Night Vale Citizen's memories forever. He did, however, leave a closing remark as he was forced out of our town via transdimensional portal, saying something about "only a few minutes before an inversion of temporal fabricates"? and "rerouting the TARDIS's Central power"? and "trying to get back as quick as possible, but if not to use this radio station to evacuate everyone within the town, because no matter-based life forms could possibly survive anything of this magnitude"?  
Just the ramblings of an eccentric, medical professional fraud, who has probably seen a lot of people die, if you ask me. And it makes you think Night Vale: What if we were to d̖̠͈̺̥̼͕͠i̙͈͈͞s̘̖͖a̛p̪̖̪̜e̫-͈͍̺̪̰̜ w̛̱h͇̖̠̖͇͡o͖̘̖̱͡a̸͉̝h̠̗̰͓̤̮?͇̞́ ̻̭̦͟I͏̥̗͕̝͎ ̜̘gu̟̲ḙ͇͔̺̯̜͜s͏̟̤̜̠s̷ͅ ̯t̗̤̟̲̟̥ͅh̙̺i̹̱̭͖̩̦̜s͙̲̤̗̲ might be ̯i̖ṣ̟t͈̝͞ͅh̻̠͖̫̜̤͚e̥̫̤̣͉͠ͅͅ ̪E̻̜ͅv̘̲̣͈͇̦̭́e̺͍̣̣̯̮̘n̗͔ţ̰̝͕̼ͅ ͏̰̣̘̹h̼̤́ȩ͖͈̙̦̼ ̸͍͉̗was referring to. I just hope he was somewhat wrong and we all come out intact. Night Vale w̯͖̘̬̝a͕͝ṣ̤͕̲̮̣̬ ҉r͓͔̤̲e̴̲̫̥̦̻͙̗f̺͙̟͙͘ͅe̘̻̠̙͖͍r̗͍͈r͕̗̝͍̠̣ͅi̖̬̬̲͜n̴͈͔̹͕̠̤g̱̞̜̹̪͔̞ ̫̰t̗̤o҉͈͙͇̰̲̱ ͎̭̫̜͖̟ͅh͙̖̞u͓̜̲̠̪͕͢h͚̪͎͖͎̜̺?̜̰̖͡ m̱͕̖͘a̖͎͎̲y̻̳̭͈̦̠͘͝b̤̖̪̙ͅe̞̣͈̘̖͙͖̮͝ ̢̧̰̲̩͟h̤͉̩͈̼̙̫̩͝e̵̲̰̹͓̤'̶̧̗̜͉̞̤̼s̵͏̮͍̣͔̰̥̥͟ ̮͓̬̳̲͓̯̰͜͜n̼̞̝̠͉̭͖̮͘͟ǫ̶̼̕t͍̰̼̗̀ ̡̲̠̳̥ṱ͖̣̠͇̮͕h̷̖̳̘̼͖̫͚a͙̘t̴͙͔̙̖́ ̪̥̯̬̙͕̻̰̱m̛͏͕͇͚͍͉̘ų̹̤͔͉̝͞ͅͅc̷̢͉̘̠h͇̟̟͕͠ ̟͓̟̬̀͡͞o̪̹f̸̳̫̗̲̤ ̧̯̖̥̕a̶̠̪͟ ͎̦̟̤q̴̪̜̯̼̻͍̀͢u̹̟a̕҉̣͎̀c̤̖̼̭͓k̴̤͕̻̱̲̀ ̝͡ạ̴͞f̥̥̗̪ṯe̵̢̯͉̪̪͇͖̻̖ͅr̲̫̹͚͖all.͎͝ W̷̝͔͙̙̥͉ͨ̇͛ͥ̕e͈̯͓̒̾ͭ͛ͭ̃̀ͣ̕͟l̘͔͔͎͚̺͐͊̽̚͞l̡̰̳̹͔͖̞̀̓ͭ͆̒̚ ̠̺̱̦͉͈̹̠ͥ͗̔͌́w͍̝̖͎͙̼͍͒́̐ͮͧ͂̓͛̅e̸̤̭̲ͭ̐ͨ̅͌̀ͭ̚ ̨̥̙͙̑ͩ̈c͙̤͍͉̈̒ͥ͌̾̔̓̚ͅa̴̧̖̥͓̳̱͕̥̹ͯ̅ͫ̒ͨ͝ͅn̿̀ͭ̐̋͗͏̰͕͙̫̘͓͡ ̵̹͖̳̜ͪ̈́̆̈͛͜o͖͍̖̰̬̻͍̪̾͋ͧ́ṇ͓͖̻̹͕̾ͥ́͝l̻͎͆̃̓y̹͇̲̫̼̲̟̫̑̆̓̐͛̑͛ͦ͋͝ͅ ̀ͬ̈̈̊ͩ̔̀͏̘̞̳̘͔̙̖̞͚h̢͔͔̅̀̃̀̄̇̊o̵̴̺̝̣̜̱͍̺̭̞̔̈͞p̨̛̟̝̝̗̪̱̱̽͂ͧͩͮ͂̀e̸̳̱̩̖̜ͮ͑ͤ͘ ̺̣̭̱̥̯̗͙͑ͧ̔̅ͥ̍̃̐̀ͅt̻̭͂ͯ͒͛h͔͙̯̝̤̻̜̓̒ͤā̸͖̜ͭ̽̑t̠̼̗̻ͪ̄̐̂ͫͨ́ͅ ̳̠̣̽̔̈́͢ḩ̨̹̪̱̹̦̬̫͆e̡̳̯̺̭̱͓͊͛͊̏͢ ̻͐͑ͬ̒͆w̴̧̙̻̠̃ͬ̾ȧ̸͖̪͖̫̰̖̮̙̈ͣͦ̍̊͡s̵̵̢̙̦̔͌ͧ̌̆ ͇͈͉̟̫̲͍̍ͦ̒̈͢͠p̥̮̞̊̾͛͋ͬ̆̓͠a͉͖͇̓͘͜r̢̦̗̞̗̟͉̰̘͓͑̾ͨ͡ţ̪͉̚͟i͎͓̰̦̣͒̾̄ͤ̂ͭͬ́ã͛͒̒҉̘̠̩̬̳̻̜̰͔l̢̢̹͕͖͂̽ͥ͘l̷̟͙̓ͤ̌͛́y͚̜̮̫̘ͫͦ̓ͨ͐̒́̊̀̕ ̣̫̗̖͖̳ͫ͊ͦͮ͊͞w̧̋͒ͨ̔͢҉̥̦r̶̟̲͚̪̰̩̪̿̿ͨ́͟o̭̺͙̺̭̙͙̳͊̎̾n̢͚̳ͬ͑̀͋̊ͯ̅͌gͬͦ̓̈́ͯ͏̞̳̺̗̞͎̰,̷͓̖͍̹̠̿ͫ͒̈ͩ͊́ͅ ̛̮̝̹̳̭̈ͣͥͤ̉̿̋̽a̡̝̻̞̩̼̭̝̤͐̏͜n̙̜ͬ͐̎͜ͅd̸͓͚̲̒͋͊́͘ͅ ̥͍̱̯͉̍̍̾́ͣ͘t̀̏̑ͮ̑͏҉̡̣͙̺̺̙h̵̵͓͔͓͉̤̳̙̗̅̊ͨ̈ͬ̌a̋̈́ͭͧ͆́̃͡҉̹̤̗̩̟̜̖̫t̪̯͔̞̦͕̞͖̽̄̓ͫͨͩ͞ ̶̠͈ͭ̄ͭ͌̉͊̀̉̕a̴̷͓͔̐ͯ͑̏̍̅̐͗͂f̸̹̰̟̬̬̺ͩ͆̌͐̀ͪ́͡t̜̦̪̋̽̌̓̓̀͝e̡̛̼͇̼̭͎̘̦̫ͬͧ̎͆̊̏̎r̨̞͙̠ͬͫͤ ͇͕͙̝̰ͬ̋̀ͣ͌͡t̷̡͎͍̝̫̬̾̈̿ͥ͑̒ͅh͙̘͔͖̮̖͐̍̐͛ͯ͐ͅi̧̝̼̠̱͍̥̬̗̔͌͒͌̏̉̆͜s̭̦̪̮̰͚̞̤̔̒̌ͪ̀ͩ̽ͩ̇,͕̣͕͊̍̇̽̍ͪ̽̋ ̯͔̟̝̦͚͆͗͢w̪̰̼ͤͪ̃͢͠éͪ͌̈́ͮ҉̲ ̧̙͖͉̗̯̥̭̳̱̅͊ͣ͋̍̐ảͣͪͥ͜҉̩͜l̨͖̘͈̱͓̹͗̅͒̾͛ͥͭͩl̻̱̳̍́ͥ͑̓͗ ̸̛͍̜̩̞̯̯̲̦͂̽̕ͅr̢̧̦̗̗̹͕͇͒̐͌̏͑̒̉̅e̘̯̭̮̜̯̖͑ͣ̋͌̎́m̙͎̺͗͗ͨ͆̃̓̕a̛͚̺̜͍̫͌̇̅ͩ̍̎ͩ̔i̛̼̪̺ͪ̃̾̇ͦṉ̷͙̖̀͑ͣ͌̀ͅ ͓͎̱̟͍̗̲͒͊̍͢i̳̺̐̇ͩ̐̆n̨̡̘͍̻̯̣̒ͧt̘͎̼͙̙̩̘͙ͬͩ̋̎͑͌ͅạ̶̮̠̗̱̺͂̑̄ͧ͘c̷̽̃̈́͛̂͏̲̯̰͚͞ͅt̡̰̱̦̤͇̘̘͙ͥͮ̓̑̈̒͜͝.Ş̷̛͒̌ͩ̓͌̋̌͒̿̄͆ͬ̈͗̎̐ͩͣ̈͝҉̟̝̦̘̩̼͚͍̘̯͕ȍ̄̈͒ͥ̋ͥ̏̆̅͆ͯ̎ͧ̋̄҉̤̫̤̣̹͖̳̬͇͡ ̴̨̛͕͈̰̜͇͔̱͎͇̜̫̭̳̓ͤͧ̇̀͗͡ĺ̷̽̎̉̅̀͋̍̍̉ͣ̚͝͏͏͏̳̬̯͓̼o̷̷̴̅̍ͧ̑̑ͥ̓͋̋͗ͣ͞͏̝̪͓̯̜͎͖̠͍̰̹̩͖̝̭̱̦̗n̶̡̼̤̫͚͚̣ͣͯ͑ͧͭ̐̊̉ͩ̑̒͋ͩ̚̚͞͡ͅg̷̡̧͚̬̖͎͇̰̯̳̩̠͇̠̐̇̈́̓̌͌ͧͨ̾̾̚͢ ̛̝̪͉̳̺̲̝̘̰̰̹͊̈̐̐̿̈́́̃ͤͬͨ̐ͦ͆̕͝a̴͊̊ͫ̂ͨͦ͐̄͑̉͒ͥͫ̉̒̿̃̂̒҉̸҉̻̞̦͚̞̞̀ͅͅn̷̞͇͕͇̻͚̣̱͇̮͕͙̒ͦ͋͊̉ͦͭ͘͟͢͞ͅd̷̟͓͙̜̜̣ͤ͌ͥ̀̅͋̄͛ͣ̈̑̎̊ͫͩ͑́́ͅ ̸̴̝̟͇̪̳̉̏͐͋̉ͦ̐̇́̅̌̓ͥ̒ͪ̎̚t͔̩̜̖̓ͦͬͬͪ̊́̀̚ḥ̷̢͈̥̤̺̺̥̳͉̟͍̞̪̩̏ͨͭͥ̂͘ͅͅa̷͇̲̙͓͖̱̳̳̼͇̙̟̙̩̹̱̤ͭ̽̈͊ͬͦ͌͗̓ͤ͐ͭ̆̊̈́͘͞͝͝n̨͖̟̥̣̫͚̫͍͖̠̬̳̱͖͍͚̬͐͑͒̆͑ͥ͂̒ͣ͆̀k̖̲̹̜͙̰̼͔̎́̊̀ͣ̓͛ͤ͌͢͝s̵̏ͤ̈́͂͒̒̔̋͊̌̒̈ͦ͊͏̨̣̠̫̝͓̟̻ ̵̢͓̖̗̜͕̻̙̜̰̩͍̺ͥ̃̆̏̐̍̆̃ͦͬ͒͂̆ͦ͘͠f̵̧̤̰͓͉̝̻͉̪̙̔̏ͧ͋ͣͧͬ̉͊̌͊̓̊͐̉ͯ̇̈́͟ǫ̨̖̙̗́̒ͪ̋ͧͨ͆ͨ̒̓ͣͨ͝͞ͅṙ̶̼̪̖̯͎͚̞͛̓̅ͮ̓̔ͦͮ̅̅̃̋̎̃͟͞ ̵̡͈̬̪̹̣͚͙̹ͤ̀͑͗̃̿͐̂ͥ̅ͣ͑̑͐ͫ̑͌̓͘͜a̧͍̲͔̠̤̼̬͖̫̿̍ͪ̈̈͟͡͡ͅl̴̶̢͔̭̤̦͕̼̬̋͒ͮ̽͋̍̅̈ͤ̒͡͠ļ̫̫̬͖̭̭̝̘͎͌̎̈̋̎ͭ̓͋̈̅̇̀̀̚̚ ̤̰̺̗̻̥͔̫̮̥̱͑͊̃͒ͥ͐̆̏̓ͫͨ̅̇͘͠͝t̹̼̠̟͔͎͎̮͕̼̗̯̣́́̂ͫͨͥ̉̐́͟͟͡h̷̢̢̡͈̦̟̥͎̘̖̰͈̱̝̟̺͔̍ͫ̽̇̀̃͜e̊̈́̉͂̏͆ͪ͗ͭ̒ͯ͛ͣ͂́̕͏̵͎͈̮̯̼̱͞ ̶ͧͮ̓̄͑̿̂̽͛̀̾͘҉̳̫̩̜̫͙̲͉̳̰͖͠͡ͅf̷̨̖͕̙͙̻̎̓ͨͪ̎͋ͫ́͘͠i̶̴̡͖̣͈̭̭̪͈͈̪͖̯͙̝̙̼̰̫͛ͥ͊ͣ̅̃̀̈́ͤ͂̽͐̽s̱̙̗̝͎̯͓̱̙̟̰̝͓̼ͥ͂̈ͬ̈͑̓͋̎̐̐͆̐́̚͟ͅh́̐̓͟͏͇͉̤̫̜̝̦͈̞̞̬̙ͅ.̵̺̱̙̰̭̬̗̮̩͉̞̺̹̲͇̲͒̃͐ͤ͆̎̉̃ͤ͒͂̉̀ͦͬͩ̃ͅ ̶͚͇̤͖̗͕̞͙̏ͧ̈͌ͤ̏̿̎ͧ́͜͞ͅŚ̴̴̩̯͔͇͍̰̭͍̝̳̞̭̳̰̤̽ͫͤ̔̋ͫͥ̏̑ͯͬ̅̌̀̕͠o̡͍̝̬̰̞̘͔̝̹͔̮̫͙̖͚͙͈̐ͥ̊̚͠͡ ̸̒ͯ̀ͭͨ͋̊ͬ̌́̒ͩ҉̫̝̥̦̙̤̣̮̦s̢̛̓ͯ̋̉̓̾̽ͭ̇̿͏̢̱̫͈̮̙͉͖͙̣̖̘̹̩̼͙̭a̡̱̤̫͔̮̲̠ͦ̉̾ͪ̇̈́͜d̷̵͙̝͙̱̟̯͉͈̖͈̪̦̫ͯͭͨ͂ ̨̥̲̗̣̝̙̼̹̝̒ͦ̎ͭ͋͜t̙̻̤̲͋͛ͬ̑͜͝h̶̵̡̼̰̙̮̰͎̺͓͇͛ͤͩ̽̊ͯ̄ͤ͛̌̐͂̓͒ͭͪ̒̉͛̕͢a̧͛ͫ͒ͤ̾̋ͪ҉̴̧͔͖̬̬͉̭̦͘ͅţ̧̛̥͍̱̯̮̣̥͈̙̰̪̦̦̐̿̄̑́̔͑ͯ̈̈̓ͩ̽̆͜ ̝͖̠̰̲̙̫͍͉͇̜̫̳̙̈̀͒̅̍ͣ͆̿͜͞ǐ̷̢͗͆̀ͨ͢҉͍̼͍̻t̡̧͙͎͇̤̜̗͙̹͇̫̣̖̟͇͙͕̦̩ͫͮͥͨͪ̔͗͂͊̈ͮ̇̂͌̀ͅ ̵̨̨̰̗͔̼̬̥̐͌̋̑ͩ̏͛͌ͧ̈́̅̕͞ş̡͍̜̦͇̽̎̋͒́͌͊͞h̴̥͕̠̰̠̲̘̥̗͖͈̤̫̪̿̓͗̐̂ͭ̾ͥ̈́͂́ͮ̚̚͘͞ǫ͙̦̲̜̥͙͕̘̖͈̗͓͈ͧ̎ͪ́̀͘ͅu̢̩̫̼̻̯̰̭͍̠̤͕͊̔̑ͮ̔͋͆ͬͪͮ̌͛ͩ͛̾̀̚̚l̨̛̩̱̩̘̺̝̤̙̲̜̺̟̠͍̲̯̜͔͊ͬ̑̊̈́̃̄ͪͥ͐̽̍̀̒̏̂͡͝͠d̶̡̧̛͍̦̩̲̦̲̼̲̫̗̜̦̻̠̮͈͑̄ͩͧ̆̊̂́̿̔ͦ̏̑̐̓͡ ̸̴̻̼͍̦̦̝̟̪͛̆́͂̇ͪ͂͋̏̈̄̎ͫ̀̚̕͘c̱͚̦̫͙͈̻̮͇̪̟͊̐̃ͥ͊ͦ̑ͪ̍͑̂͂ͧ͒̄̄͛̅̀͘͟͝ơ̭̳͔̜̖̫̦̙̜͂ͧ̃̔̑̏̀́m̧̙̼̩̼̰̲͍͚̜̿̐̍ͨ̎ͦ̽̔̊͂ͥ̅ͥ͋͡ͅͅͅe̸̼̜̮̮̙̹̞͕͇̯ͣ͆̇̍ͨ̓͒̾̎͗͆̌͊̏̀̕͢͢ ͆̎̾̾ͬ́ͨͩ̊̏̉͒ͫ͆̏͟҉̳̻̟̝̼͍̬̖̤̜̜͝ͅͅt̷̡̩̞͙͉̞͕̳̑̃̉̌͌ͫ̀̇ͮ̀͢o̳̘͔̳͓͇̱̥ͩͧ̎ͤ̈́̈̌ͮ̐ͤ̏ͣ̆́̚͠ ̨̮͖̻̘̗̇̓ͫͯ̅͂̎͒͌͝tͥ̈́̅̊̒̔̀̃͆́͊͗̂̽͐͛ͬͭ͑͏́͝҉̴͚̯̥͈̫̣̲̯̙̳̝̭͇̬̖h̟͓̠̳̞̙̯̮̣̗̖͕̪̗̩͍̋ͪ̓ͦ̅͢͠i̷̢͍̻̹̘͚̩̳̜̼̻͙̱͙̫̫͚̻̿͌̍ͥ̂̂̍͆͗͐́̅͋ͩ͋̚͡ͅͅs͇̬̮̟̻͉͓̰̼̯͖̭͆̂͗͢͝.͓̫̮̬͖̌͗͗́͗͟͢ ͆͋̓̆̾̏̇ͯ͋҉̹̪̫̻̮W̵̨̢͇̜͇̭̑͑ͯ̒̑̄ͨ̊̌ͨ͢e̸̘̻̞̖̠͐͗ͫͦ̀ͨ̆̉ͣ͢ ͖̮͉̙͔̪͉̜̮̑́̂ͮͦ͌ͤͤ̎ͥ͐̈́̎͐͟͞͠͡͠Ť̶̹̲̥̬̬̭͔̥̺̙̼̗̠͓̅ͬ̋ͮͧ̓ͥ̎ͣ̏̎͋̆ͤ̉͘͢͝r͆͛͊̌̽̃͛͋̽̒̾̇̀͆̅̅̅̐҉͖̜͈̮͉̝̟͜iͫ͑̂̍͡͏̙̙̳̲͓̝̝̼͈̟͓̞̞̫̘͙̘̞̺̀e̗̱̗͔̖͈̻͎̯͕̥̘ͤ̿͆͋́͘d̨̨̑͛͛̏̓ͣͣ̌̐̑͑͋̓ͤ̚͟͝͏͈͉̫̬̣̯̤͚̞̳̥̘̜͎͕̹̰ ̸͖̱͉̙͍̟̭̓̑ͫ̾̇̚t̨͔͓̬̭̖̱̖̭̲͍͕̅̔̏̌̅̆͑̅̕̕͢o̸͈̹̣͇̹̻̞͖̝͉̜͈͕͓̳̖̝̓ͭ̍͊ͮ̓́̕ ̶̡̗̙̘̺̼̗̺ͥ͐ͤ̈́ͯ͂̓ͨ́ͅw̸̛̖̱̟̬͍͙͔̹̥̠̞̦͔͖̹̻̿͆̿͗̏ͧ̚ͅa̵̷̬̺͉̗̖̟̦͍̝̠̽̃̽̈̀̓ͩ̈͜ȓ̩̟̣͈̻̹̭̪̞̭̰͚̫̥̙͈̲̺̓̉̔̇͗̔ͭ̀͞n͍̻̣̬̟̞̖̻̬̜̣͇̣͙͖̳̰̬̂ͪ͆̓̄ͪ̇̒̈́̉̒̓̈̃̚͜ ̎̋ͯͯ̂̔̓͛ͣ͊̈́̐ͥ͏͚̪̪̺̜̭̦̥̝̖̙̹͔͎̬̝͈̜̪͢͞y͛̓̊́͏̶̖̟̩͇̪̟ọ̵̶̸̣̻̲͖̯͇̙̘̫̤̹͙͚̿̉͗ͯ͗̆ͦ̆̊̽̈̚̚̚͟ͅůͩ̿̓̆̔ͣ́̋̈́̀̚̚҉͇̻͈͉ ̎̍ͧ̿ͥ̇ͧ̑̍̌ͫͫ̒ͭ̆ͩ̀̒ͤ͏̷҉̢̹̙͙̰̲͓̜̥̤̝͓͍̟̝̞aͦ̂͗̈́̇̆͋̏ͥ͗̊̔͐̾̈́̏̊̚̚҉̯͕͚͉͇̜͜l̍̋̌͛ͪ̉̌ͯ͑҉̸̡̝͚͎̠͕̪͈̭̲̲̩̗͍̟̬̯ͅͅl͒͒ͧ̈͋͏̵͙̭̤͍̮̩͇͕̳͙͕̻̲̫͇̜͖̀͞ͅ ̡̐ͧ̉̉̎͛ͫ̾ͦ̈ͤ̇͢҉҉̜̹͉͖̣͍̩̮̻̝̜̩͙̺̮̰ͅb̢͖̺̮̗͂̀̇̆̌͌͒̓͟͠ư̷̴͍͎̻̣̠̖̞̺͉̣̠̎̊͌ͤ͋̑̍̾̔͊̾̏̄ẗ̸̷̶̢̢̟͎͚͖͖̤͉͋ͮ͊́͗̑͋͑͋ ̠͙̖̩͔̱̟̝̤̗̰̦̒ͦͥ͛̄̈͊ͫ̈́ͤͩ̓ͮ̅͑ͬ̂͐͢͝o̡͚̗̞͍̘̟̯ͬͪ̉̍̿̂ͨͩ̚͡͝h̵̛̦̩͇͓͇͗͗ͨͪͣͩͯ̓ͯ͋̍͟͠ ̨̢̦͔͇̲̞̰̞͚̯̫͎͔̩͖̠̹̮̹̓̓̏̃̂̿̏͋͋͑̊̔͠d̶̼̙̗͓͚̣̠̈́̏̇̿͒͡e̷̢̱͔̩̦͎̻͎̜̘̮͉̪̟͈̐ͩͣͮ͂̔͗ͯ͂͋̒ͥ͛͐ͤ͗̍͢͟͝ͅͅa̡̡͖̪͍̫̺̝̺͑̒ͪͪ͌ŗ̸̼͖͎̳̬̈ͣ̈́ͬͯ͛ͯ͞.̶̢̝̮̳͍̫̜͕̟̻͔̦̘͐̿ͫ̏͘

….

….

Well, that was odd? But really I don't see the big deal. I mean, sure we all did gazed longingly into the Time Vortex, glaring at the very soul of the Universe, and thus into ourselves, unable to avert our eyes for what felt like an eternity, but it's nothing you can't get at the Night Vale Spa with the Existential Crisis Treatment, for only $39.86 extra. Order online too! But there will be a time for that later Night Vale. Now the time for my broadcast is running low. The temporal portal out of this station is growing and whispering my name. And, I suppose, if this is the last chance I have to say it:

Good Night Night Vale. Goodnight.

_Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Common Place books, it is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor and produced by Joseph Fink. This episode was written by me who is (as far as you know) not Joseph Fink or Jeffery Cranor (probably). The Voice of Night Vale is the voice of Cecil Baldwin you have chosen to remember and read this in. The same goes for the voice of The Doctor, but with David Tennant inlou of Cecil Baldwin. Since this was only words there was no music to be heard, but if there was it would have been by Disparition, which could be found at __or__, had it actually have been real. Today's weather was 'Bag of Shit' a song, the same author of this fanfiction, pulled out of his ass because he's not a song writer._  
_Comments? Questions? E-mail the Actual Night Vale at __nightvale __ or follow them on twitter nightvaleradio. Check out __ for more information on this show, as well as all sorts of cool Night Vale stuff you can own, and while you're there, consider clicking the donate link, that would be cool of you._

**Today's Proverb:** You are a star. All stars eventually wither away to be forgotten, or explode killing everything in it's path.


End file.
